Avoiding the not-tequila and ignoring the minty nonsense, Stark convinces the bartender that yes, he really does want 'the godforsaken red shit that no one drinks because it tastes like diesel'. With a glass in hand and a weird-ass book Vidocq would give his eyeteeth for, Stark leans against the rail and watches the cohort move through the room. It's no Bamboo House of Dolls, but there's that same sort of dive vibe that permeates the Apache and it's as close to home as he'll find outside the arena.